


days led us here

by Areiton



Series: Without Words - Stony Love Confessions [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Coping Mechanisms, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Inspired by Art, M/M, Silver Fox Steve Rogers, WHY IS THAT STILL NOT A TAG???, sad Steve Rogers, tattoo!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29167059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: The gym was a wedding present and he can still remember the way Tony had moaned and complained, about the old timey equipment and the fact that Steve didn’t want a simulator with a million training options.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Without Words - Stony Love Confessions [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748689
Comments: 16
Kudos: 127





	days led us here

**Author's Note:**

> Because Pineapplebreads gave us
> 
> [ This ](https://twitter.com/pineapplebreads/status/1355157500014653440?s=20)
> 
> and I wanted to make it happy but like--I failed. Sorry??

He’s in the gym.

The gym was a wedding present and he can still remember the way Tony had moaned and complained, about the old timey equipment and the fact that Steve didn’t want a simulator with a million training options. 

“I can do that,” Tony had promised, eyes bright and laughing, and Steve had kissed him, right there in the middle of the gym that would become his refuge, with the weight of vibranium and gold still new on his finger. 

He never did let Tony upgrade it--they were in the Compound enough that he could train on any sim he wanted there, and the gym at home--it reminded him of his life, Before.

“So long as you remember where you belong, beloved,” Tony says, all easy and smiling and shadows lurking in his eyes. 

Steve drags him close because even now, Tony needs to be reminded, needs to  _ know _ he is loved, that Steve’s entire world revolves around sparkling eyes and a sly grin. 

He strips out of his white tank top, and stretches, muscles pulling as he reaches for the tape. 

Steve never used to wrap his hands, before going to work on the punching bag. But he can feel the ghost of Tony’s fingers brushing over his, busted knuckles and dried blood and the heart wrenching hur in his voice when he says, “Just because they heal doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” 

He wraps them now, because he hates seeing that grief in Tony’s eyes, but it’s quick and methodical, almost negligent as he takes care of himself. 

Around his neck, his rings clatter, a comforting beat to his every move, and he touches them once--not quite a rosary, but close enough to tug at almost forgotten Catholic guilt. 

Thought falls away, when he throws the first punch. 

He loses time to it, to the rhythmic motions of boxing and the scent of sweat and saw dust, to the clink of the bag’s reinforced chain and his rings bouncing with his punches, and the rasp of his breath, his heart pounding in his ears. 

He can hear Tony screaming, even lost to the rhythm of his movements and the burning in his arms. 

He can hear Tony  _ screaming  _ and it’s layered over Bucky’s voice as he fell and the silence where Natasha should be. 

He can hear them and can  _ smell _ the burning, the scent he can’t shake and doesn’t want to think about, the smell of copper and pennies and acid, of Peter after he fought Doc Ock. 

He can smell the ozone and blood, the scent that clung to Tony on that goddamn field. 

His rings clatter and he closes his eyes against the memories and the nightmares, against the memories that are threatening to drown him. 

They shouldn’t. 

They’ve had a lifetime of  _ good _ memories--the bright sunlight on Tony’s sleepy smile, the day they brought Laika home. The day Peter proposed, and the day Morgan got into college, the day Sam and Bucky got married--all the fucking days of their lives, they’ve had so many good memories. 

He’s  _ drowning _ in the bad. 

He wants  _ Tony _ , a kind of desperate need that itches under his skin and makes his hands tremble and his fingers wrap around his rings with a desperation that makes him choke on a noise he refuses to call a sob. 

“Beloved,” Tony murmurs, wrapping his arms, metal and flesh both around Steve, one hand tangling in the chain and rings that Steve took to wearing after Tony started wearing his tags, and Steve slumps, his taped hands dropping as his exhaustion sweeps over him, hot and sudden. He sags back, trusts that Tony will hold him up, and keep him safe, and Tony--

Tony shifts without word, cradles Steve’s big broad body against his own, and holds him safe. 

“Nightmare,” Steve chokes, and he tips his head back, blinks against the sting of sweat and tears and the dim lights that reminds him of a lifetime ago, of a gym where he’d watch Bucky fight. 

Tony’s hands tighten on his waist, holds him safe and close and cherished and he brushes a kiss against Steve’s forehead. The scars from his shoulder knot and tug as Tony twists Steve in his arms and cradles his face in his hands, and murmurs, “It’s not real, darling. This--me, you,  _ here-- _ this is real.” 

This is the life they fought for and earned. 

It’s real. 

All the bad days--the almost dying and the years lost, the fights and the hurt--it all lead to a lifetime together.

Tony smiles at him, and Steve can see wrinkles, faint and inevitable, and grey at his temples that matches Steve’s own silvering hair. 

It won’t last forever, this perfect eternity they found.

But for now--the nightmares are fading and Tony is warm and pliant and clinging in his arms, alive and beautiful and Steve kisses him, rough and desperate, and prays he never has to let go. 


End file.
